<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>through the years (it's always been you) by winluvr</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373169">through the years (it's always been you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winluvr/pseuds/winluvr'>winluvr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Dreams, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Narration Heavy, Non Linear Narrative, motherlode of pining, not beta read we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:35:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winluvr/pseuds/winluvr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> In this dream, you are alone with the boy. You are standing with him on your farm, it’s his farm too, and you’re happy, happy, happy. Like happiness can be enclosed in a sweep of the rice crops. Like happiness can be right there beside you, standing on the field you have tended to for years. Like your happiness is his. He’s holding your hand, and you’re happy.</p>
</blockquote>the eventual ceremony of two boys in love.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>through the years (it's always been you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’” — Sue Zhao</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>i</b>
</p><p>
  <b>(December 2018)</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“When will you come home, Atsumu?” Shinsuke wonders.</p><p> </p><p>You are twenty four years old, still living in the prefecture that you have always called home, and you miss him everyday. Hyogo Prefecture is the home of the recurring dreams you have encountered and the haven of rice stalks and crops that you have cultivated through the years. You are at <em> home </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke stares at the outside world through his bedroom window. He feels a little shiver when a cold gust passes by his skin the moment he cracks it open, just a little, just to feel something new, something foreign. The way he is tilting his head slightly to the right as he looks at his neighbor who is trimming the grass in their garden is almost wistful. The way he is looking off into the distance like he could be starting off his inner monologue like the protagonist of an inky-black indie film is almost wistful. This, all this, is almost wistful.</p><p> </p><p>He warms his hands on his cup of tea before taking a sip of it. Chamomile, the way his obaa-san likes to make it for him on particularly cold, gloomy days like this one. In the kitchen, amaebi is set out on dark earthenware plates, the heads of the sweet shrimp lying raw and pink over rice under the soft ceiling lights. There is a wicker plate full of mikan oranges on the center of the dining table to replace the vase of baby’s breath that had long since wilted. He looks out of the window for what feels like the longest time. There are no visitors this Christmas. This is their first Christmas to go without them.</p><p> </p><p>In the distance, Hyogo looks like something new, almost like something that had come from another world, although he had lived here for his whole life and a half. Hyogo looks like a dream and a half, with its pale clouds and lit-up streets and dreary blue atmosphere. In the distance, Hyogo looks happy. </p><p> </p><p>For the longest time, Shinsuke stares out of the window. Like he is waiting for someone to come. He sits there waiting, but they never come. He does not have the heart to blame them. </p><p> </p><p>In the distance, when you look a little further away from the snow-covered mountaintops and wavering neon storefronts, Hyogo feels like something far flung, almost exotic. Almost outlandish. There is no reason to want something you have never known, is there? Hyogo looks like something you have never been to. In the distance, Hyogo looks like a place for mourning.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke smiles when he longs for something. Someone out of his touch. Among other things, there is a burgundy scarf wrapped around his neck. Like all, or perhaps most would be more fitting, of his other things, it was a gift hand-knitted by his grandmother for the entirety of two weeks. She had told him that she had been learning a new technique with her new double-pointed needles, a gift from another one of her granny friends whom she had met back at his high school.</p><p> </p><p>His grandmother stands outside his door, frail hand holding the knob for support. “Shin-chan,” she says, “it’s time to eat.”</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>This dinner, with the scent of grilled fish and dashi broth and pickled red ginger filling the thick air, his grandmother sitting across from him and the kettle whistling on the stove, feels familiar. Today, he feels like he’s five years old again with his grandmother still having to cook dinner for him again. Today, he feels like he’s five years old again and the world is still intact, and his whole world is not falling out of his boy-hands.</p><p> </p><p>His grandmother tilts the cup of water to her lips before she speaks. Shinsuke takes a knife to slice the marinated wagyu beef for her. “It’s been a while since you’ve had your high school friends over, Shin-chan. Why don’t you invite them over for Christmas? I still have some red and green thread left over from last year to make them some sweaters.” </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke looks at her, a small smile twitching at his lips. He hums in agreement, his tone warm with longing. “It has been a while since you’ve seen Aran and the others, but we do see Osamu often nowadays.” He pauses to take a bite out of his gyudon. “You like Osamu a lot, don’t you, granny?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know how much I like that boy.” His grandmother looks at him. “He’s as handsome as his brother. Atsumu, wasn’t it? He was so sweet and lovely too. Do you think he has some free time this week? Why don’t you ask him to come over?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, I’m sorry, granny.” Shinsuke rubs the back of his neck with his hand, cheeks flushing pink. “I haven’t been able to talk to him in a long while. We haven’t really kept in touch.”</p><p> </p><p>His grandmother blinks in surprise. “Ah,” she says, a frown settling on her face, “it might be too much of a hassle then.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke’s heart drops in his chest at the look on her face. He sets down his fork, swallowing down a bite of piping hot steamed rice. “No, granny. It’s okay. I’ll try to find a way.”</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>Osamu comes over to visit them again sometime during the week. “Hello, obaa-han, Kita-san,” he says, bowing in front of them. He’s holding a plastic bag in one hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his pants. “How have you been?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” Shinsuke greets, bowing his head lower. “Come in or you’ll get cold outside. Granny’s waitin’ for us in the living room.” He holds the door open for him to enter and watches him take off his black work shoes. He clears his throat in the silence. “Thank you for coming over in such short notice.”</p><p> </p><p>“No worries, Kita-san. It’s my pleasure.” Osamu waves at his grandmother, flashing her a trademark lazy lop-sided smile. In this light, Osamu looks a little closer to Atsumu, except a few discrepancies like the hair and all. But the smile’s the same, the eyes are the same. “Ah, obaa-han. You’re eating well, eh? It’s nice to see ya in great condition these days.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods at him, returning a pleased smile. “It’s great to see you, Osamu-chan. So handsome as always.” Shinsuke can’t help but laugh softly at how the top of Osamu’s ears redden from his grandmother fawning over him. “Like his brother. Do you have someone in your life now, Osamu-chan?”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu brings up a hand to his face, mindlessly scratching his cheek. “Oh, well, I s'pose you can say that. We’re going steady, yeah.” Looks over at Shinsuke for help, almost frantically. “I’ll have you guys meet him one of these days. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, that’s too bad, then.” His grandmother’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “I’ve been looking for someone to set up my precious Shin-chan with so I can see him get married soon.” She sighs. “Thought you might have been the perfect fit. But do tell me if you’re planning on having your boyfriend over so we can get his favorite food cooking before you come.”</p><p> </p><p>“Osamu,” Shinsuke cuts in, “how’s your brother these days? Is he doing well?” Smiles sheepishly when he sees the way Osamu is looking at him. “Haven’t been able to watch any of his games recently ‘cause I’ve been at work on the farm.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Osamu muses. “‘S been a while since we’ve stood in the same court, yeah. See him lots on the tv though. He texts me every now and then, but it’s never really the same.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, that’s great to hear, then,” Shinsuke says. Pauses for a while before adding, “Can I have his number? I think I lost it or maybe he got a new one and I didn’t get the memo.” But inwardly, he hopes, more than anything, that it was the first. He couldn’t stand the thought of Atsumu forgetting him, not when he was the only thing he saw in his dreams. Not when he’s the only one he wishes to see, all this time that passed.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu blinks. “Huh? Why do you ask, Kita-san?” Still, he fishes out his phone from his belt bag. “Here. He hasn’t got a new phone, though. Still the same one since high school. Ma told him to get a new phone ‘cause his screen’s cracked, but he told her he was savin’ up for something. Not sure what.”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably savin’ up for the future and all. ‘Cause, knock on wood, injuries are a part of his career,” Shinsuke says. He shrugs. “Wanted to ask how he’s been these past few years cause we ‘aven’t heard from him in a while, ya know.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu nods knowingly, looking at him intently, taking back his phone after Shinsuke was finished copying his number.</p><p> </p><p>“Granny’s been thinking about inviting him over for dinner. Christmas and all. Says she misses seeing him.” Shinsuke smiles into the distance, not meeting Osamu’s eyes. “Might as well whip up some tonkatsu for him. Maybe granny could make him ‘nother one of those melonpan he likes so much.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think he’d eat anythin’ ya make for him.” Osamu laughs. “I told him I’d keep it a secret but he teared up when you gave him umeboshi when he got sick back at Inarizaki, ya know.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke hums. “I miss the old team, don’tcha? It’s been a while since I’ve seen Aran an’ the others, hasn’t it.” He looks down and offers Osamu a mikan orange, peeling its skin like it’s a flower. “It was nice when we were back in high school. It was nice being captain, even if it was just for a while.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Must be nice if we had a reunion or somethin’. Been a while since I talked to Sunarin and all. Heard he got into a V League team too.” Osamu laughs. “To think that he’s been slackin’ off at practices yet he got into a Division 1 team.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah.” Shinsuke laughs too. “Nice to see him getting outta his comfort zone and all. Hope they’re all treating him right.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu’s phone rings in the front compartment of his bag, one loud <em> ping! </em> after another. “Sorry, I gotta answer this,” he says, fishing it out. Sighs as he types out a quick response. “‘Tsumu’s telling me about this new serve he’s trying to nail.” Shinsuke looks at him expectantly. “Called a ceiling serve or somethin’ like that. Just won’t give up on perfecting it. You know how bad he gets when he’s tryin’ out something new.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke sighs, although a small, warm smile twitches on his lips soon afterwards. “Sure sounds like something your brother would do. Tell him to get enough rest after practice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will do when I ‘ave the time to call him up.” Osamu smiles. “Do ya miss him too, Kita-san?” he asks. “‘Tsumu, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, of course, I do.” Shinsuke looks at Osamu, smiling. Bright, like a little morning sun on his face. “I missed all of you guys. You should tell the others to come visit me every now and then. Or it could be the other way around, I guess. I can grab the train or somethin’. Whatever works for them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Osamu says, “I’ll them about that. Maybe I can get Keiji to come with me sometime.” Adds, after a moment, “I’ll have to get ‘Tsumu’s schedule cleared up so he can see ya. He really liked you, Kita-san. Talked about ya all the time.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke smiles warmly, almost wistfully. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>☾</b>
</p><p> </p><p>(In this dream, the boy touches you. His hands burn against your skin like he is made of fire. They burn against your skin like they hold all of the love in the world. He grazes a vacant hand through the swaths of rice stalks and the other through your silver hair. “Why do you love me, Kita-san?” he asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Because I was scared, ‘Tsumu.” Shinsuke looks up to meet his eyes. His eyes are burning like they are holding all of the longing in the world. Like he hasn’t seen this boy for years. Like he’s been trying to hold the memory of this boy in his eyes, his hands. “‘Cause I was scared and you were there.”</p><p> </p><p>In this dream, you are alone with the boy. You are standing with him on your farm, it’s his farm too, and you’re happy, happy, happy. Like happiness can be enclosed in a sweep of the rice crops. Like happiness can be right there beside you, standing on the field you have tended to for years. Like your happiness is his. He’s holding your hand, and you’re happy.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>ii.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[January 2013]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke feels a lump in his throat as he takes a small step forward and pushes the door open. He feels his body grow warm at the thousand gazes trained on him, his hands damp with sweat as he walks inside. Today, he will take on the whole world. Today, he will not be doing it on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Light seeps through from a blink of space in the gymnasium. In the beginning, darkness. Shinsuke’s eyes readjust to the stark white lighting, blurry spheres shifting to clearer figures. <em> Ah. </em>This was it. There was the strong smell of menthol from muscle relief patches wafting through the air. There was the loud shouts and the sounds of his bones cracking under skin and the constant echoing sound of balls slammed by hands, spiked against walls. Oh, how comfortable it felt to hear this. How familiar it all felt. He can feel his hands stop shaking.</p><p> </p><p>There are girls holding flimsy, decorated fans to show their support for the Miya twins. All gold glitter and gaudy ribbons. Shinsuke’s eyes sweep through the crowds and steer toward their school’s banner. <em> We don’t need things like memories. </em>The black and gold banner sways in the air, dancing broadly as it commemorates their arrival for the whole world to see.</p><p> </p><p>“Captain,” someone says from behind him. A great, booming voice free of fear, free of second thoughts. For a moment, Shinsuke feels envious of the confidence he exuded. Then, he blinks it away. <em> Ah. Of course. </em>He has been building his own skill up all this time. He has been training hard to be a setter their team can depend on. What was there left to still be afraid of? “Let’s go.” Today, he will not be doing it alone.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke looks back. Before his eyes, the haze shifts into a recognizable figure. The colors that blended together starts standing still. Dark blond hair to his sly grin to black clothes. There he is. Miya Atsumu was standing behind him. And there it is, the hands still on his hips and the lazy smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. He can feel his heart skip, just a little, under the tightening enclosement of his ribcage. </p><p> </p><p>Somewhere beneath the ground, there’s the shifting of their feet on hardwood floors. There’s the gaze of a thousand people so heavy against their backs. There’s the sound of tectonic plates gliding over one another, too. Probably. Somewhere beneath his clothes, there’s the flitting sound that his own heartbeat makes when he looks at him. Because there he is, Miya Atsumu, smiling, always smiling.</p><p> </p><p>In this stark lighting, Miya Atsumu looks beautiful. The widely renowned strong presence of a first-in-line setter. His steady stance and his feet moving in a state of grace contrasting with the wicked grins stretching over his mouth and the killer serves expected of someone from a strong contender for the Spring High tournament. There’s a sudden surge, the swift movement, the fluid motions slowly coming to a still together.</p><p> </p><p>You are eighteen and right now, you feel like the whole world is watching you as you walk inside the gymnasium. You could be standing in front of the whole world, you could be standing on the delicate ridges and the slowly moving, slowly expanding rockscapes of the world itself. The soles of your black and slate gray ASICs feel heavy, but when your eyes steer into the crowd, you spot your grandmother in a bright pink sweater she knitted your given name on.</p><p> </p><p>“Shin-chan,” his grandmother calls out. When she waves at him, he can feel his shoulders relaxing under the jacket slung over his shoulders. He can feel his forehead relaxing from the indent the constant furrow of his brows made on it.</p><p> </p><p>You are Kita Shinsuke. You are Shin-chan to your beloved grandmother, the one you love most, the only one you have treasured. You are Kita-san, Kita-senpai to most of your teammates, although through the years some of them have gained the consent to call you your first name. Shinsuke, how does it feel when the whole world knows your name?</p><p> </p><p>You are eighteen and right now, you feel like the whole world is resting on your back, in the form of the red jacket with black details hanging over your shoulders. You will whip off the same jacket later like a flag to signal your arrival. </p><p> </p><p>Although, in actuality, it is less about announcing his entrance like he’s someone special, like he’s trying to say, “Here I am. Here we are, world. Feel free to fawn over my presence and trip at your feet trying to worship me.” Instead, it has something more to do with the electric shock that runs up his arms when you put them through the sleeves. It’s unsettling, unnerving. He would rather not put himself through that if he could do something about it. You are eighteen and you are certainly not a masochist.</p><p> </p><p>In the beginning, there was the deafening symphony of loud cheers and mellow sound of the trumpets being blown into. Now, there is only sheer silence with everyone waiting in hushed anticipation as Atsumu raises his hand before his serve. In one fell swoop, he clenches his fist and the whole world stops under his feet. There is no stopping him, really, when he runs up for the kill, feet blurring into one another, as he jumps up and spikes the ball toward the other side. The ball lands just between Karasuno’s wing-spiker and libero. There is a look on their faces, one of both wonder and confusion. He’s bagged the first service ace of the day. </p><p> </p><p>In the distance, the other team’s captain shouts at them to loosen up. Shinsuke sits on the beach and begins observing both of the teams more intently, along with the other reserve players. For a moment, he thinks, there is anything shameful about being the captain and being a reserve player. All the more time to see the team you’ve handled all these years in action. All the more time to see the world hang their heads in awe. He lets his eyes follow the smooth trajectory of the ball in their hands. He smiles as their libero digs it back up just in time. He isn’t nervous, not really, not as of this moment.</p><p> </p><p>There isn’t a spare moment to be anxious. When you are in the presence of monster players, there is nothing left to do but to steer clear away from them. Hope that they won’t sink their talons into your skin, hope that they won’t slice you up and break open your wounds. You are eighteen and you have been invited to a banquet with the monster generation. </p><p> </p><p>A Taiko drum group with a small blonde woman at the center arrives somewhere in the middle of the match, changing the entirety of the atmosphere. Shinsuke can feel his ears ache with the vigorous sound. The tempo throws off their team a little and Shinsuke sees Osamu murmur something to his brother under his breath. The drummers begin cheering on the restless orange-haired boy from the other team. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu spares a glance toward his direction and grins wildly as he launches a full-power attack above the net. Shinsuke’s head feels like it might be spinning when he slams a hand against Osamu’s back. This is it, world. This is our strongest artillery. Shinsuke’s heart swells, just a little, with admiration.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke is called to step in. As he walks toward the court, a thunderous amount of pressure is laid on the other players. He watches as Suna straightens up, arches his back a little further. Watches as Oomimi holds his hands up higher in a sturdy block. Shakes his head and gets ready for a serve.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke thinks, <em> I’m just here to turn the tides over. Don’t be too on edge with my presence. </em>He shrugs off the feeling of a hundred pairs of eyes on his back and draws back his arm to serve. Tosses the ball up high and slams his hand against it.</p><p> </p><p>The team shifts positions over their side of the court, tension thick in the air, stirring over them like clouds. Ginjima nods toward his direction and Shinsuke feels something settle in his stomach. There wasn’t anything to be worked up over. </p><p> </p><p>“Take it easy,” Aran bites out to the twins who are already clashing with each other and breaking their formation. “Keep ‘em all off-balance then find a good opening for an attack.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke watches, like an omnipresent deity, over the twins whose feet are sliding over the lines of the court like they’re performing a simultaneous tap dance routine. Glances over his shoulder to check on Atsumu, who’s standing tall like an omnivorous shadow, ready to gobble their opponents up and spit them out. Thinks that he doesn’t really need to stand out too much. Knows that he just had to let the feeling of despair a little longer, drag out the feeling of unease so he can watch the crows squirm over their vice grip and sharpened talons.</p><p> </p><p>The second set starts and Atsumu’s up to serve. He kicks it off with a jump floater that swerves at the moment before it drops outside of the court. Atsumu clenches his fist and cries out, though Shinsuke knows, inside he was wondering how it could have possibly gone in. The sharp sound of the cannon bouncing off the walls, smoothbore tank guns stabilizing the flight. The ball comes to a stop just within their bounds and the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer. Atsumu grins and blows the smoke coming from his burning hands.</p><p> </p><p><em> Ah, </em> Shinsuke thinks as he sets his eyes on the banner that stretches widely behind their backs, <em> this feels great, doesn’t it. </em>He knows he’s getting fired up, a lot more than he usually does, and he lets the pain rise up his jaw like heartburn. </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke knows the atmosphere of the game’s getting a little too intense. Feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he pays keen attention. Murmurs a quick warning to Suna who’s coming up for an air battle with the tall middle blocker. There wasn’t really anything to be afraid of. If only he didn’t consider how bad Atsumu can get when his strong desire for winning a match takes over him, if only he didn’t take note of how different his brother seemed from him yet had the same hunger as he did. Like they were the same person split into two equal halves, like their hunger was split up to be shared.</p><p> </p><p>The last point slips out from Ginjima’s fingers, although he had them splayed out. If only he had reached out even half a centimeter farther. And if only Shinsuke didn’t let the sweat on his steady palms grow dry, if only he hadn’t let the flame stirring in his chest cool down to ashes. If only he had worked a little bit more at it during practices, if only he had toughened up his serves so he could be more of a stabilizing presence in the team. If only the twins hadn’t had such an overwhelming thirst for success that ended up knocking them down in the end.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke wipes the sweat off his face with the back of his hand and walks away from the court, letting his feet steer him away. In the distance, someone from their cheer squad hollers at Atsumu. There’s a pair of girls crying while holding their glittered fans. His grandmother claps softly. The match has ended too soon, sooner than he would like to have it. He thinks he has scored enough points for a lifetime, sure, but there is no pleasing Atsumu, a boy made for his greatest dreams, who hands his head low and glum. But there is no one to blame, not now. Not when he has to let go of his title, of the team he has tended to all this time, of everything.</p><p> </p><p>But the day ends here. Today, the monsters have been taken down a notch. With a heavy sigh, they line up to extend their hands over to the other side of the net. Ace to ace, captain to captain. Atsumu throws a threat to the blue-eyed first year setter whom he has found to be a complete threat and points his finger at the orange-haired spiker whose dragging limbs seemed to be giving up on him at this point. He murmurs a vague threat before facing his back to him. There he goes.</p><p> </p><p>You are eighteen, and you have been invited to a banquet filled with monsters sitting at every corner of the table. They have come to strip away the ends of the tablecloth from the corners of the table you have sat at for three years and they will take away the silver plates laid out in front of you. They will steal the nashi pears and gold coins like a treasure chest and you will let them walk away. You will let them fade from your vision, with the last thing flashing behind your eyelids being a black and gold banner. <em> We don’t need memories. </em></p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke walks away first, his feet already walking multiple steps in front of them. Behind him, Atsumu stumbles on his words before going ahead and saying them in chorus with his twin. Shinsuke spares a glance toward their direction.</p><p> </p><p>They hang their heads low, remorse clear in their faces. <em> But </em> , Shinsuke thinks, <em> the arena is not a place for remorse. Life is not a game where you cannot make a mistake. </em>He cuts in before they can even start saying sorry about the last quick attack. He looks at them blankly and asks, “Did you guys think you'd feel a bit better if you apologized?” </p><p> </p><p>They look back at each other and protest. “That’s not it!” Osamu exclaims. “That isn’t how it is,” Atsumu insists.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke blinks at how earnest their interrupted apology would have been. Still, he says, “It’s alright. I get what you mean already, but one should only apologize when they really mean it. Didja really mean it, Atsumu, Osamu?” </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu looks back up at him. “Kita-san, of course we did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Shinsuke says. Adds, after a whole moment’s worth of afterthought, “Personally, I didn’t think that you guys were wrong to do the last quick attack. Would have been a good one if you got it in. Tough chance for them to have been able to receive the ball, but they did. Although I’m not fond of the thing that you guys do where you never try the move during practice but somehow pull it off during a real match.”</p><p> </p><p>The twins look away. Aran, already walking past them, cuts in and adds, “That last hit error was on the opponent.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, exactly.” Shinsuke faces his back to the twins, his feet striding over to the direction that Aran is walking toward. “It’s like how when you guys get into the zone an’ leave everyone else in the dust. Ya know, that kind of thing. But maybe this time ‘round, something went right for Karasuno.”</p><p> </p><p>The twins remain silent as Shinsuke continues his speech. “See,” he points out. “Volleyball isn’t all about glory, ain’t all about winning. But I know for one thing that you guys were excited about this match. I understand the frustration you feel. Matches like that are far and few between, so that was nice.” He smiles when he gets to the last part of his lecture.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu stands in silence, taken aback, before whispering to his brother beside him, “Kita-san smiled just now, didn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>Heisuke, who has his hands stuffed in the sides of his shorts due to the lack of pockets, cuts in and says, “Actually, Kita-san was smiling a lot during the match, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke doesn’t look back at them, though he continues speaking. “But honestly, I’m still a little frustrated about it all. Up ‘till now, I’ve been giving volleyball my all. Like how you guys have always done. Damn it all, really, but I can honestly say that I have no regrets about this being the last match I’ll ever play. To me, winning or losing a match is still a result, a by-product of the little things you do everyday.” He pauses to turn towards them with a smile, his eyes going soft as he looks at them. “That being said, I wanted to be able to say “Aren’t my teammates amazing?” just that little bit longer.”</p><p> </p><p>Aran’s eyes water and he has to bite his bottom lip to keep himself composed. Suna looks away from him. Their first year pinch server has tears streaming down his face. </p><p> </p><p>There’s a break of silence, until Osamu says, “Say it, then.” His slate gray eyes are burning into the middle of Shinsuke’s face as he speaks. “Say it again, Kita-san, just this once.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu finishes for him, “We’ll be your juniors. The juniors that you can be proud of, even up until the time you have your own grandchildren. Even until then, even after that.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke pauses for a while. Then, his face splits into a grin. “I’ll be lookin’ forward to that, then. Well, what are you guys waiting for? Come on now. Chop, chop. Get changed quick.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>iii</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[December 2018]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Atsumu.</p><p>Is this your number?</p><p>This is Kita.</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>yes, kita-san</p><p>where’d ya get it</p><p>wait hi</p><p>say hi to me for granny</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Got it from Osamu.</p><p>So</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu.</b>]</p><p>yes kita-san?</p><p>what is it</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Are you free tomorrow?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>hold up</p><p>what’s goin on kita-san</p><p>are you</p><p>askin me on a date or something?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Granny told me to invite you over.</p><p>Would you like to come over or not?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>of course, kita-san </p><p>text me your new address</p><p>i’ll hop on the earliest train over there</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Okay.</p><p>Take care, Atsumu.</p><p>Say hello to Sakusa-san and the others for me.</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>will do! </p><p>omi-kun says hi</p><p>see you tomorrow, kita-san :)</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>(In this dream, the boy comes to visit you. <em> Kita-san. </em>He says your name like a prayer, like it’s something to be revered. He looks at you and in his eyes, you see something twinkle like there are stars churning inside them. “Kita-san, where have you been?” he asks. In the distance, you hear the birds hum.</p><p> </p><p><em> I’ve always been here </em> , you think <em> . You knew, didn’t you? </em> Your heart lodges between your throat as you open your mouth to speak. “Atsumu, have you been looking for me all this time?” </p><p> </p><p>The fan-shaped leaves of the Ginkgo tree hang over your head. “Kita-san.” He pauses to take a step forward. There he goes, falling between the creases of your mind that stopped committing things to memory long ago. “I would ‘ave waited forever if I needed to.” There he goes, breaking your walls down. In this dream, you no longer have to wait for him.)</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu stands in front of him, dressed in a gray shirt that hangs loosely over his torso and black pants that cut to his ankles. His bangs hang over to the right side, plastered to his forehead as he wipes the sweat away from his face. The sunlight filters through the window, pale yellow against his skin. He looks beautiful as always, with the light shining in his eyes, like the sun has found something in them to treasure.</p><p> </p><p>“Kita-san, how have ya been?” Atsumu asks, already taking his shoes off and slipping on a pair of white guest slippers. “Haven’t seen ya in, like, three years.” Laughs, with his whole heart in every beat. “I didn’t think you would text me. I just thought you would ‘ave deleted my number long ago.”</p><p> </p><p>At this, the tips of Shinsuke’s ears grow red behind the locks of his hair that keep falling on the sides of his face like a window. “Hello, Atsumu,” he greets. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle for you to come all the way here just to have dinner with us and all. Come in.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu follows his lead. The moment he walks inside their house, Shinsuke’s grandmother catches sight of him. She calls his name, beckoning him to come over where she is sitting in the living room, swaying back and forth on her rocking chair. “Atsumu-chan, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been so long since you last came over. How are you now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Obaa-han.” He bows his head low at his grandmother. “It’s nice to see you too.” Looks at Shinsuke, then steers his gaze away back towards her. “I’m doin’ great. Been purging myself on sweet potatoes and some fruit juice every now and then ‘cause my roommate Omi-kun bought a new blender.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks up at him. “That’s good to hear. Taking care of your health is important, you know.” A small smile tilts up at the corners of her mouth. “Have you eaten lunch already? Shin-chan cooked up some milkfish for you to eat.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu’s face cracks into a smile. “I haven’t been able to eat yet ‘cause practice took us too long. Thank you, obaa-han.” He looks back at Shinsuke expectantly, the lazy smile on his face growing wider the longer he looks at him. “Thank you, Kita-san.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke looks away, feeling his face grow hot like every time Atsumu looks at him, and steps out to set the table. “It’s nothing, Atsumu.” He places the china plates and rice bowls in the middle of the table and spreads out a short tablecloth. Come and eat with us before the food gets cold.”</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu sits down with them on the floor, huddled along the circular table. Shinsuke pours miso soup into the wooden shirowans, one for each of them. Eating, with the boy you have loved for years and your grandmother sitting on either side of you, feels more like a ritual rather than a feast. </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke expertly peels off the skin of the milkfish with his hands. Atsumu watches him as he does this. He slices the fish down the middle and pries it open, wide enough that it shows its bones, softened from two hours of cooking in the pressure cooker. He glides the pad of his thumb over it, eyes running over the course of the fish to check for roughness.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re good with your hands, Kita-san.” Atsumu remarks, looking at his long fingers with a familiar amazement. He watches as Shinsuke piles up the pale pink-ish flesh at one side of his plate, the thin dark parts on another, sorting them out carefully. “I’ve gotten used to ‘Samu doing this for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke hums in acknowledgement, taking a few parts for himself, then for his grandmother. “Eat up,” he says, folding his hands over one another. “Thank you for the meal.”</p><p> </p><p>“So,” his grandmother cuts in, “how has Osaka been for you, Atsumu-chan? Have you gotten around to visit Osaka Castle already? Shin-chan’s always wanted to take us there, but we can’t leave the farm any time soon or the crops will wither.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu shakes his head no. “Haven’t found the time to go there, but we’re planning a group trip. We’re planning to pay a visit to Universal Studios while we’re at it. Might be really expensive though. I don’t plan on using up my paycheck on that.” He flashes both of them a bright smile. “Why don’t you guys come with us, obaa-han? I can pay for your tickets if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke interrupts their chatter. “Atsumu, we can’t accept that offer from you. Tickets from all the way here can get real pricey and ya know it as well as I do. Granny and I can’t take that. Maybe we can save up enough to travel, but not now.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu lets out a low whistle. “Maybe next time, then.” He strips away the plastic layer of spicy tuna rolls that he bought from a remote sushi shop on the way over to their home. He pours a trickle of soy sauce over the rolls, the sheet of nori wrapped around it crinkling with the dampness. </p><p> </p><p>“Try some, Kita-san, obaa-han.” Atsumu holds one out with his chopsticks, balancing it with his deft fingers. “Bokkun told me that ‘s a really good shop for this kind of thing but it’s my first time buying from there.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke’s grandmother smiles fondly. “I’m sure it’s good, Shin-chan. Atsumu-chan wouldn’t feed you just anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke blinks at her. He tries to take the chopsticks from Atsumu, though he pulls his hands away. “Say <em> ah </em>,” Atsumu says, like he’s in the dentist office. “I might drop it if ya don’t. It would just go to waste. Don’t want to waste good food like that.” He does not disclose that he practices the five second rule when he eats alone whenever Sakusa gets home late.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke opens his mouth reluctantly. It feels embarrassing, really, to be fed like a baby in front of your grandmother, the one person who has seen you grow up. Still, he lets Atsumu place the tuna roll on his tongue. The moment he swallows it down, he wipes his mouth with the back of his long sleeve. “You didn’t really have to do that, Atsumu. I can feed myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu grins at him. The smile on his face feels too bright, like Shinsuke could burn his fingers when he reaches out to touch him. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just wanted to tease ya.”</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Atsumu.</p><p>Did you get home safe?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>yes, kita-san</p><p>stopped over to buy groceries</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Good luck on that, then.</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>thank you</p><p>can you help me out?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Okay.</p><p>
  <b>iv</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[January 2014]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>You are nineteen, and you watch the boy as he stands in front of you and maybe, just maybe, you can feel your heart flicker. Just once, just this once. There’s the smallest flutter of a butterfly wing, barely a third of the collateral damage of a level fifty five magnitude earthquake, but you can feel it.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu flashes him a smile, almost bright enough to twinkle from across the room. “Kita-san,” he says, his eyes panning up and down like he is trying to devour him by looking alone, “have ya come to watch me play?” He wipes the sweat off his face with the inside of his jersey. “There really wasn’t any need to check up on me. I’m doin’ good. Better, probably.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke shakes his head, though a small fond smile settles on his face as he speaks. “Nah. I only went to see Osamu. See if he’s gotten better. See if he’s takin’ care of himself. Can’t have ‘im injuring himself when he’s our best spiker.”</p><p> </p><p>A frown taints Atsumu’s features. “Do ya still remember what we told you last year?” Shinsuke’s mind travels back to last year’s Spring High tournament. <em> Of course, </em> he thinks. <em> Of course I remember. </em>How could he forget about the one thing that has mattered most to him all this time, all these years?</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke lets out a soft sigh. “Of course I do. Go change.” He nods his head toward his open locker. Mumbles, as an afterthought, “It’s okay, Atsumu. I don’t mind you changin’ in front of me. I won’t peek, if that’s what you’re thinking.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do ya still remember what I told you, then? Back at your graduation?” Atsumu’s eyes are hopeful as he says this. He pulls his damp shirt off his head and slides on a fresh one from his stowaway bag. Shinsuke does not let his eyes linger on the lines riding up his abdomen for too long. “Do you, Kita-san? Tell me you still do.” His eyes flare into the middle of Shinsuke’s face and Shinsuke feels warm all over.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I did.” <em> How could I have forgotten when it’s the only thing wafting through my mind? </em> Shinsuke pauses to look up at him. “What are you waiting for, then?” <em> What have you been waiting for all this time? </em> “Why don’t you just… I don’t know, make a move? Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu takes a step forward. “Kiss me, Kita-san.” Shinsuke cranes his neck upwards, his mind flurrying with desire, his eyes delirious with all of the longing in the world as he looks up at the boy. And suddenly, they have been reduced to two silhouettes fading into each other into the dark, their bodies slotting into each other perfectly like they’re one half of a whole. Like they are made for each other, like the grooves of their backs and the dips of their sides have been carved for each other.</p><p> </p><p>Although, in actuality, Shinsuke’s neck aches a little from the way he is bending it upwards toward Atsumu. He opens his eyes, just a little, and spares a furtive glance to see if there is any chance that someone could come in at this time. The door is slammed shut and the windows are pulled down. And so Shinsuke lets himself kiss the boy back. He wraps his arms across the back of his neck, pulling him closer to him.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu slides the pad of his thumb over his kiss-swollen lips, drawing closer and closer to him with every step he takes. His eyes gloss over with desire, a pair of little golden suns burning in the middle of his face as he kisses him again. And again and again and again. Shinsuke does not remember how many times he kissed him that day. Shinsuke didn’t bother to count, not when his mind was going haywire.</p><p> </p><p>In his dreams, Shinsuke only sees this boy. He has only ever seen this boy. Shinsuke does not dream of sacred things or things that will save him from extinction by the time we get to the end of the world. He does not dream of the present nor the past. He only dreams of his future and if he had anything to do with it, he would like to spend the last of his days with this boy. He does not dream of a singularity floating around in the universe that slowly expands into infinite space. He dreams every night only about what could have been. </p><p> </p><p>“Was that okay, Kita-san?” Atsumu asks. And for a moment, he sounds nervous. Almost insecure of the way he’s been kissing him. During the whole time Shinsuke has spent with him, he has never seen Atsumu like this. “What didja think?”</p><p> </p><p>“It was okay.” Shinsuke swears the world has stopped for a moment. His hands feel numb as he peels them away from Atsumu’s neck. “Why are you askin’ me that like it’s your first time kissing someone?” He pauses. “It isn’t really, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu swipes his finger across his lips, miming a zipper. “I am <em> not </em> gonna humiliate myself by answering that question.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke raises an eyebrow. “All this talk and you’ve never even kissed someone. So what did ya go out with all those girls for?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu’s eyebrows curl into a furrow. “What?” he asks. “I’ve never dated anyone before, Kita-san. Where’d ya hear that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Rintarou might have told me somethin’ about it last year.” Shinsuke looks down sheepishly at his shoes. “Didn’t utter a word about it to anyone else, though. Aran knew already.”</p><p> </p><p>The crease in Atsumu’s forehead smoothens as he looks at Shinsuke. “Kita-san, didn’t ya know you’re the only one I’ve ever liked this much? Tell me that you like me too, even just a little. All I’ll ever need is even just a bit coming from you.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke feels his heart swell in his chest. You are nineteen, and you look at the boy who is standing in front of you. You watch as he leans against you, the Adam’s apple going up and down his throat, the breadth of his arms spreading over you like a second shadow. Here comes evenfall, spreading into the orange skies, and in this moment, you feel infinite.</p><p> </p><p>“I do, Atsumu. I really do.” In this moment, it becomes all that Atsumu has ever needed to hear. It becomes everything that Shinsuke has ever wanted to tell him. “Do you believe me?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu cups Shinsuke’s face in his hands and kisses him again. Shinsuke is rightfully convinced that the way Atsumu is pressing his lips against his mouth is going to drive him up the walls. “Of course I believe ya, Kita-san.” He laughs against his lips. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the only one I trust.”</p><p>
  <b>v</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[December 2018]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>(“Atsumu.” Shinsuke calls out his name until he looks back. “Atsumu,” he says, more insistent this time, like his name is the only name that he has ever known. Like his name is the only word he has ever said. Like he could conjure him out of thin air, manifest him back if only he just tried a little harder.</p><p> </p><p>In this dream, he is a boy who looks just like you. You wait until he lets you come close to him and there it goes. There goes the parameters of loving a boy that you have never let yourself pass. Your stomach holds the phantom ache of guilt setting in your stomach as you look at the boy. He holds almost the same golden flames burning in the irises of your eyes. He is standing in front of you and he is holding all your dreams in his hands that are built for receives and feet that are structured for standing on the main court of the world.</p><p> </p><p>You are twenty four years old. You call out the boy’s name, almost desperate in the way you enunciate every syllable of his name, like you are trying not to forget him. Like you are trying so hard to make him remember you. Still, he stands in front of you, holding someone else in his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Kita-san,” the boy says, holding all the glory in his eyes. Shinsuke’s eyes go hazy as he looks at him, but the boy’s eyes are trained elsewhere. He looks at her with all of the longing in the world. “I’d like ya to meet my girlfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>This is Hyogo Prefecture. This is where your dreams have come alive and manifested into existence, but this is also where your dreams have fallen apart at the seams. This is where you came undone, you know, like everything else he has touched, like everything else he has come into contact with. This is the place where your dreams follow you into.)</p><p> </p><p>☾</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke wakes up with his sheets rumpled all around him. He rubs at his bloodshot eyes and flashes a glance at the kitsune clock sitting on his nightstand. Ah, a nightmare. His chest feels heavy as he stands up to get himself a glass of water. It’s one of those days again. The dreams are getting worse and worse every night he lets himself lay to sleep, but he can’t help it. Not when it’s the only time he can see him.</p><p> </p><p>“Shin-chan.” His grandmother holds out a hand to touch his forehead. Her hand feels cold against his warm skin. “You feel hot. What’s going on? Do you have a fever? You musn’t tire yourself out watering the new crops again. Come here.” </p><p> </p><p>“No, obaa-san,” Shinsuke struggles to say, his voice soft, dropping to barely above a whisper. “I’m okay. It’s nothing to make too much of a fuss over. I can’t afford t’ get sick now.”</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>good morning, kita-san</p><p>did you sleep well?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Yes, I did.</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu</b>.]</p><p>have you eaten your breakfast already?</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Yes, I have. </p><p>You should eat yours as well.</p><p>Thank you for asking, Atsumu.</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Atsumu.</b>]</p><p>no worries, kita-san</p><p>i like checking up on you</p><p>making sure you’re eatin well</p><p> </p><p>[from: <b>Kita-san ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ</b>]</p><p>Okay.</p><p>Thank you.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>vi</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[January 2016]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>They’re sitting on a table at the back of a dimly-lit 7-Eleven in Kobe. Atsumu takes a bite out of the steamed pork bun he bought from the counter. Shinsuke cups the soft rice of the tuna flakes and mayo onigiri in his hands. He takes a long whiff before placing it into his mouth and deciding that Onigiri Miya’s are still better. The air is filled with a soft, comforting silence and the softer, more comforting smell of their food.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu swallows down the bite he just took and breaks the silence. “Kita-san,” he says, “do ya regret anything we did?”</p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu.” Shinsuke looks at him quietly, intently, his throat going dry as he opens his mouth to speak. He sets down the onigiri on a clean tissue from the dispenser. “‘Tsumu, why are you askin’ me this? How badly do you think about me?” </p><p> </p><p>“Kita-san, I don’t mean it like that. Was just wonderin’ if this meant something to you like it did to me.” Atsumu looks at him and all the feelings he has struggled to push back down comes resurfacing. “I drove all the way here for ya, Kita-san. Just wanted to make sure if you felt the same.” </p><p> </p><p>This is not a dream. You can reach out to touch him, if only you let your fingers splay a little further out, if only you let yourself take just one step closer to him. And so you do.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I do, Atsumu.” Shinsuke finishes his onigiri and folds the packaging to dispose of it. “I’m a man of my word.”</p><p> </p><p>“I should know better than that,” Atsumu mumbles, fingers swiftly moving to set aside his trash. “I just missed you.” He catches hold of Shinsuke’s hand and drags him outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Take me home, Atsumu.” Shinsuke lets himself be hauled into Atsumu’s car, until he’s sitting on his lap in the driver’s seat. “Let me show ya how much I’ve missed you.” </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke lets Atsumu wrap his arms around his waist as he straddles him, his knee digging in either side of his hips. He lets his body hover over Atsumu, his hands ghosting over the rough surfaces and the smooth crevices of his body. He lets a line of teeth wander over him, his lips leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses on Atsumu’s jaw down to his neck.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu whispers in his ear, as he tucks a black-gray strand of hair behind Shinsuke’s ear, “Hold on tight, Kita-san. I’ve still gotta take ya home. Bokkun’s out for tonight, anyway. Said he’s stayin’ over at one of his friends. Forgot who.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke whimpers as Atsumu traces a slow hand over his shoulder blade. Hisses, “I wanna get this over with quick.” He leans against Atsumu’s chest, letting himself inhale his scent that smells vaguely of chestnuts and a hint of vanilla. He presses a hand against the line of his chest and feels warm. It feels like home here. Here, in his arms, in his touch.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu laughs at his eagerness, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Says, as he tugs at Shinsuke’s collar, “Let me make you feel good, Kita-san. I’m going to make ya feel so good you’ll forget your own name.” Murmurs, as he mindlessly rests his nimble fingers on the waistband of his pants, tugging on the zipper, “Hope you won't forget this night.”</p><p> </p><p>This is not a dream, although it feels like it could be one. You are twenty one and you are holding the boy you have loved since you were eighteen in your arms. You look at him with all the longing in the world. You can’t help it really, the same way he can’t help carrying the crisp scent of spring, like fresh flowers in a field and the mellowed out pinkish buds of perennials. You can’t help wanting him, so you let him take over. You let yourself spill, soft and warm and damp with sweat, between the cracks of his fingers. There is a warmth that you feel in your chest, a feeling of lightheadedness like the first time he touched you and something tender in him. </p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke wakes up first, so he waits. He picks up the book lying on the nightstand and reads about sports nutrition. He flips through a few pages talking about which foods would give you the most energy, best performance and the overall endurance of a top-level Olympic athlete. He sets down the book and watches instead how Atsumu stirs in his sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu curls up beside him, the amber glow of the sunlight sifting through the blinds falling across the features of his face. He looks beautiful like this, lying with him under the rumpled white sheets, his hooded eyelids illuminated by the warm yellowish light. Shinsuke lets his eyes wander across the full breadth of his shoulders in an attempt to encapsulate all of his most beautiful features in one short furtive glance. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve gotten up already, Kita-san?” Atsumu asks from behind him, a hand already wrapping around his waist.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke startles at the sound of his voice. Almost jumps at the sudden warmth around him. “Yeah, yeah. You know I like waking up early. Gotta get a head start on the day, get a few things in before daylight. You should get up too and I’ll make breakfast for us.” Wonders if they got any groceries for the week, then sighs. Of course, it’s Sakusa-san he’s living with. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu flashes a quick glance toward the clock that reads 4:00AM. He whines, pulling Shinsuke back to the bed, “But Kita-saaan, it’s too early. Five more minutes and I’ll get up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thought I told ya to stop calling me Kita-san after last night. You’re really so quick to forget.” Shinsuke lets himself get dragged back into his last position, folding his hands over the black shirt rising above his thighs. This is still <em> not </em>a dream. He’s wearing Atsumu’s shirt and he’s lying with him. </p><p> </p><p>“Shin,” Atsumu says, smiling as Shinsuke hides his face into the window of his bangs. “Ya like me calling you that, huh?” </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke can feel his heart catch between the edgeways of his throat. How could this, all this, not be a dream when the only time he could get plenty of peaceful rest is nighttime, when everyone else finally falls asleep? How could this, all this, not be a dream when he has only known happiness through slumber? He lets the boundaries of his happiness be reduced to the rough shape of the boy lying beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, you’ve got five minutes.” Shinsuke tucks himself into the sheets, enclosed into a sunbath of Atsumu’s warmth.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu stretches his arms out wide. “Make it ten, Shin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seven minutes, or you’re cooking for yourself.” Shinsuke closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Atsumu’s waist.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu pouts, running his fingers through Shinsuke’s hair as he cuddles him, his head resting on the top of the other’s head. “Okay. Deal.” He holds him closer to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>vii</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[March 2016]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>(In this dream, you love the boy. You want him to be happy.</p><p> </p><p>“Kita-san.” Atsumu balls his fist over the strap of his duffel bag. There are tears pricking his eyes as he speaks, but he never lets them flow. Instead, he takes a deep breath. “What if I get scouted and I ‘ave to travel to the other side of the world? What if they send me over to Alaska or something?”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke falters. “I’d be happy for you.” <em> What right do I have to be angry, after all? </em>“Why’d ya ask this all of a sudden?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kita-san,” Atsumu says, his voice low, like the steady thrum of a heart beating in his ears, “will ya wait for me? Do ya promise you won’t get sick of waiting for me?”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke swallows down the lump in his throat. There it is again, the overwhelming urge to do something. “Okay.” He lets Atsumu press a kiss to the side of his mouth. What was a few more years of waiting anyway? “Atsumu, do ya promise you’ll come back soon?” He lets Atsumu let go.</p><p> </p><p>“Kita-san, I-” Atsumu tucks his wallet into the pocket of his jeans. “I can’t promise you anything yet. Not right now.” He takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry, Shin. You know how sorry I am about all this.” He presses his hands to the sides of Shinsuke’s face and slides his thumbs over his eyelids in a futile attempt to soothe him.</p><p> </p><p>Still, Shinsuke lets out a light, airy laugh. He hears the slow ripple of water on slick rocks in the distance. Far away, so far away from him. Like this, the waterfalls look beautiful. He looks at Atsumu and sees a boy so close, so <em> close </em>, close enough for him to touch, and yet also a boy so far away.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>viii</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[December 2018]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>In theory, everyone can be forgotten. How great do you have to be, after all, to not fade away into the all-encompassing darkness of obscurity? Shinsuke watches as Bokuto, whose name had been automatically catalogued as Bokkun in his mind, beams toward the crowd, hands in the air as he faces his back to the whole world. He’s standing like he is holding the whole world in his hands. He’s standing like he had been carrying the heavens with him on his back all this time. He stands like he could be the whole world all at once. And maybe, to one person out there, he could be the world.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke watches, still, as Sakusa launches himself into the air for a brutal spike into the other side of the court. Hears one side of the crowd wince as the libero fails to receive the ball. He watches Sakusa’s graceful form, his back stretching elegantly like that of a ballet dancer, legs lifting themselves up in a manner that is so dignified, so sophisticated. He watches the twist of his wrist as he strikes his palm flat against the ball. Shinsuke watches Sakusa and thinks, <em> Is this what it feels like to be great? </em>How beautiful this is, all this. Sakusa looks so free, like there are no worries, not when the only thing standing between them is the ball.</p><p> </p><p>His flitting gaze lands into the stance of a middle blocker who couldn’t have been much taller than their libero. He’d recognized this one. All obnoxiously bright orange hair that turned to be natural somehow and eyes almost as bright as his hair that held a curious twinkle in them. Atsumu had once described him as a monster. Like he had been built of the same hunger, the same thread that Atsumu had been born from. Shinsuke watches Shoyo and wonders if everything he had been through was worth it. He wonders if the glory of a profession of chasing down balls had been all worth it. He wonders if all of the muscle relief patches and bruises on his toughened-up knees would, someday, become worth it. He takes a second glance and he knows. <em> Ah, of course it is. </em></p><p> </p><p>Then, <em> then </em>, Shinsuke looks at Atsumu. After all, what else had he been doing all this time, all his life? He wonders if Atsumu had ever let himself forget. Let himself forget all of the headaches he had gotten throughout high school trying to balance everything on his hands like he had been a scale in his past life. Let himself forget how he had dealt with his younger brother being one step further than him, like he had somehow leveled up faster in the game of life. Let himself forget how he had dealt, in turn, with how to cope with the said brother leaving him behind to pursue something else in college. He had slammed his back against the wall, almost hard enough to break his spine, although he never had the heart to do so. He had felt betrayed that day, and onwards he had to deal with the inevitable feeling of loneliness after his departure. How had he been able to cope all this time?</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke wonders, as he looks at Atsumu thriving under the outstretched arms of his teammates and the deafening sound of the cheers of the crowd all for them, if Atsumu had ever felt lonely these past few years. Wonders, if Atsumu had ever felt that someday, this would all become worth it. Would it, really, do him any good, working his ass off to do better than the younger setter from the other team, working his ass off to master his triple serves? Wonders what it would be like to fully satiate a monster like him. Again, he wonders, as he looks back at him once more, if Atsumu had ever missed him like this. Still, he buries the thought deep and walks away, his heart beating with a loneliness that had kept coming back up to the surface of his still waters.</p><p> </p><p>☽</p><p> </p><p>(In this dream, you never let him go. Atsumu holds him in his arms once more, his hands cold against his warm skin. It all feels like sin, all this, when they are sitting under the pale light of his bedroom. In this light, they seem transparent, like they have faded away to a mere illusion. In this light, it all seems like a trick of the light. This, the ceremony of their bodies and their hands under the dark of the night. This, the look in their eyes as they fade into nothingness, into each other.</p><p> </p><p>“Shinsuke.” His voice sounds like sacrilege in liquid form when he utters his name like this, like he needs him, like he has always been the only he needed. “Shinsuke.” He says his name like it is the only name he had ever said, like it is the only name he had ever cared to worship.</p><p> </p><p>“What is it, Atsumu?” Shinsuke inches closer toward him.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu presses a kiss on his forehead. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke spares a furtive glance toward the boy. In this light, he looks beautiful, with his golden eyes blinking sleep out of them. How long has it been since he saw him like this?)</p><p> </p><p>☾</p><p> </p><p>(In this dream, you never let him go. You watch his back as he walks away from your sight and you run towards him, your feet leaving light tracks against washed-over sand.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>ix</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[January 2021]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu holds out a hand toward his bag, offering to carry it. Shinsuke lets him take it, although it had been light enough anyway. “Kita-san,” he says, the smile splitting across his face wide enough to swallow him whole, then diffusing away from view, “I didn’t know you came to watch us play today.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah,” Shinsuke says, feeling his chest tighten as he looks at him. Had it really been so long since he had stood in the same space as him? He tries again to speak. “I was just passin’ by. Have to head home in a few and tend to Granny.”</p><p> </p><p>“How are you, Kita-san?” Atsumu says. He examines him further, and Shinsuke flinches a little under his scrutinising gaze. “How’s obaa-han?” His expression softens. “Has she been eating well these days? Have <em> you </em>been eatin’ well?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, we’re doin’ fine,” Shinsuke says, shrugging it off. “Oh, Granny told me to drop these off for ya and your teammates when I saw you. She had them specially pre-ordered from Osamu.” He hands him the Onigiri Miya take-away paper bag he had been holding in his other hand. “Told me the tuna mayo’s for you. I think the umeboshi’s for Sakusa-san.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why do you still call him Sakusa-san? He’s much younger than ya.” Atsumu smiles, his eyes soft, before speaking. “I missed you, Kita-san. Did you miss me too?”</p><p> </p><p>This is not a dream. You watch as he shines so bright, so unashamedly, so unabashedly bright, in front of your eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke’s heart leaps in his chest. He wills himself to take a deep breath. “Of course I did. It’s been so long since the last time we saw each other.” He looks back down at his feet, trying to calm down the flickering lights in his beating heart.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you still remember what I told you, Kita-san?” Atsumu says, hope shining in his eyes. “I told ya to wait, didn’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you been waitin’ for me all this time, Atsumu?” The words catch in Shinsuke’s throat. “Have you been waiting?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kita-san, you know I’d wait for ya forever,” Atsumu says, his eyes bright. “Even if you didn’t wait for me, I’d still wait for you.” He takes a step closer and closer until their faces are hovering over each other like bodies in perpetual ceremony.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you love me, Atsumu?” Shinsuke asks, his heart wavering. “Why did you have to wait for me all this time?”</p><p> </p><p>“‘Cause I was scared and you were there for me. ‘Cause I had been so unsure and you were the only thing I wanted to believe in. What else do you want me to say, Shinsuke? I love you,” Atsumu breathes out over his lips. “I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will you stay this time, then?” Shinsuke whispers, so small and so afraid and so fragile. “Will you stay this time around?”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke does not dream of sacred things. He does not dream of their faces fading away into the sunset or the way Atsumu brushes his lips over him, warily, almost like he’s afraid of touching him. He does not dream of any of this. He dreams, only of how happy he could have been, only of how happy he could be with the boy standing in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>“Shinsuke.” Atsumu utters his name. Lets the syllables curl out of his mouth one by one. “I’m coming home to you.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>